Hero
by Annabel H. Wildes
Summary: Azalea Rose Potter was always strong. She sometimes wishes she wasn't. FemHarry, AU, Era:Pre-Hogwarts to...Chapter 8 UP!
1. First Friends

**Disclaimer: I'm not rich, not blonde, and I've never even been to Europe. Draw your own conclusion. **

**Warnings: Girl! Harry (Duh! Self-evident), AU, child abuse, Azalea lives in the basement instead of the cupboard and there will NOT be any Horcruxes in this fic. She's a bit smarter than the Boy Who Lived is and definitely more cunning (we still love you Harry! ;D). Also, there will be violence and a few other things in this fic. Hence the rating (T).**

**A/N: Yes, I do know that neither of them sound their age but Azalea's always had to take care of herself and they're both somewhat bookwormish (neither of them has any friends). I will update when I can and there shouldn't be more than 2 months between updates(not without notice anyway). This first chapter takes place the 2nd of May in 1989 (which makes Azalea 8).**

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Chapter 1: First Friends

Azalea clipped the hedge as quickly as she could. It was getting dark fast; if she wasn't finished before Uncle Vernon came home she'd get no dinner and would be lucky to escape a beating. She could only hope that Uncle Vernon didn't drink tonight because when he did, it was infinitely worse.

A rustle in the hedge made her stop. She went closer to investigate, but cautiously. Then a boy's face peered through a gap in the thick leaves. Surprise flitted across their faces at the same time; obviously, he hadn't expected to see another face staring back through the hedge, then again, neither had Azalea herself. He was the first to speak.

"Er, hi I'm Andrew Dawson. My mother and I just moved here from Kent."

She stared at him with guarded hazel-green eyes for a moment before replying, "I'm Azalea Potter."

"Nice to meet you." The boy, Andrew, replied.

"Pleasure." There was an awkward pause, as neither of them knew what to say. Azalea, because Dudley had run off anyone she'd had a hope of befriending long ago, and Andrew because the strange things that seemed to happen around him tended to scare people off.

He broke the silence by asking, "What school do you go to?"

"Little Whinging Primary."

This seemed to pique his interest. "Really? I'm starting there tomorrow. What grade are you in?"

"3rd. You?"

"4th." There was another awkward silence.

"So, are we… friends now?" She asked tentatively.

"S'pose so."

Azalea heard Uncle Vernon's company car rumble into the drive, and knew it was time to go.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I have to go. I was supposed to have the hedge finished before my uncle came home. I'll see you at school tomorrow. Bye!" She knew the hurried goodbye was rude, but she'd have bigger problems in a matter of minutes so she pushed Andrew to the back of her mind.

Not ten seconds after moving away from the gap in the hedge, Uncle Vernon appeared at the back gate and came toward her, his face turning purple as he moved closer. "Ungrateful freak! You haven't finished your chores! Think you can laze around while your aunt slaves away in the kitchen, do you?" She didn't reply, keeping her eyes trained on the ground.

She wondered how anyone could ever think it was true; she counted herself lucky if Aunt Petunia cooked one meal in a week, two was unheard of, and if that ever happened the Apocalypse would without doubt follow the next day.

Uncle Vernon forcefully pulled her from her momentary reverie; grabbing her stick-like arm, and all but dragging her into the house, where he proceeded to chuck her down the stairs as though she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes with a parting, "I'll deal with you later. She checked herself for any serious injuries, and, finding none, moved to sit leaning against the wall.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Uncle Vernon was kicking her awake. Azalea jerked awake just in time to hear (and feel) one of her ribs crack. She moved as far as possible from him, until she backed into the opposite wall. She tried to stand up, but he struck the backs of her knees with the belt buckle and her legs collapsed from under her. Blows rained down on her; blood seeping from welts the belt made and bruises already forming from Uncle Vernon's fists. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to end.

After what seemed like hours, Uncle Vernon left, and she was alone in the darkness of the basement. She lay down on the old curtains that served as her bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

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At 5 am, Azalea woke up to Aunt Petunia rapping on the door of the basement. "Get dressed, and make breakfast before Dudley gets up," she said. She dressed as quickly as she could and ran her fingers through her dark red hair. She slowly went up the stairs to avoid disturbing any of her injuries, and began to make breakfast. She had to move more carefully than usual because of the welts on the backs of her knees but nevertheless was finished before 6 o'clock. As soon as she was finished, Aunt Petunia herded her out of the door, slamming it in her face after telling her to be back before 4 o'clock or else. And yet else was becoming increasingly predictable whether she was on time or not. As she walked the five blocks to Little Whinging Primary, it started to rain. Quickening her pace as much as she could without further injuring her ribs, Azalea briefly wondered whether someone on high hated her.

She got to school just before 6:15. The parking lot was nearly empty; the only cars were the blue one that was the music teacher's, the librarian's red car, the green car that belonged to the front desk secretary, and a silver car in the visitors' lot that Azalea didn't recognize. She walked into the building, grateful that the heat was on today. She decided to go to the restroom before doing anything else but she stopped when someone called her name.

"Hey, Azalea!" She turned toward the person who had spoken. It was Andrew.

"What? Oh, hi."

"Why are you here so early?"

"I'm always early."

"Oh."

The lady who had been talking to Ms. Gaines, the receptionist, turned around.

"Who is this, Andrew?" The lady said cheerily.

"Oh, Mum this is Azalea. Azalea, this is my mum, Mrs. Dawson."

"Nice to meet you, Azalea."

"Pleasure," she replied, her hazel and emerald eyes staring into Mrs. Dawson's brown one's. She turned to Andrew.

"Got everything? Keys, map, phone numbers?"

"Yes Mum, I've got everything."

"Do you want to walk home or should I pick you up?"

"I'll walk."

"Alright then, have fun!" She kissed him on the check and gave him a hug, causing him to flush and exclaim 'Mum!' before she finally left.

"So why are you always early?" Andrew asked after a pause.

She blanked her expression, hiding the jealousy that had shown moments ago. "I never wait around for my aunt to drive up here; I don't like cars much, I'll ride in them if I have to, but I prefer to walk." She replied, giving the story Aunt Petunia had made up as an excuse for Azalea always walking to school.

"So what time does school start here?"

"About half past eight, which means that we have about two hours to kill before class starts. No one but teachers and their kids will be here before half past seven. The other students won't be here until around eight; after that we'll have to stick to the art room, the music room, the library, or the cafeteria. Until then, we have the run of the school."

"Wow, so you get all this time to yourself everyday?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much, but I have to stay out of the teachers' way or I'll get in trouble; most of them don't like me."

Andrew frowned, but didn't say anything.

"So do you want me to show you around?"

He shrugged "I guess so."

They set off down the hall. As they walked they talked. Azalea learned that Andrew liked cars, building things like model airplanes, and reading. He also told her that he played the guitar and the drums, but mainly guitar. She was careful not to say anything specific about her relatives, keeping her statements vague and generic.

By a quarter to seven they'd finished the tour so Azalea took Andrew to meet the music teacher, Mr. Hardwick.

They made a beeline for the music room, but before they got there one of the teachers stopped them.

"What are you up to?" She asked with narrowed eyes and an accusatory tone.

"Just going to the music room, Ms. Garrett," she replied, ducking her head.

"Well, get there, and don't cause any trouble on the way!"

"Yes, Ms. Garrett," she said.

Ms. Garrett gave a cursory glance at Andrew and stalked off down the hall.

"Is this what you meant by the teachers not liking you?"

"Yeah, most of them know my aunt, and she, err, doesn't say the best about me."

"Right, and the music teacher is one of the ones that likes you?"

"Not at first, but now he does; it's a long story."

"We've got time."

"Maybe later."

By this time they were at the door to the music room, and Azalea knocked lightly on the door. A man who looked to be in his late 50s opened it.

"Azalea!" He said, apparently delighted to see her.

"Good morning, Mr. Hardwick. This is my new friend Andrew; he's just moved here, and he plays the guitar." The music teacher's eyes lit with interest.

"A guitarist, eh? How well can you play?"

"Er, fairly well. I've been taking lessons since I was about 4."

"Let's hear it, then." Mr. Hardwick replied, taking a ½ size guitar from one of the stands in the corner.

They spent the remainder of the time until class in the music room; Andrew working with Mr. Hardwick, and Azalea doing who knows what on the piano.

"Best leave her to it," Mr. Hardwick had said when Andrew turned to ask Azalea something, "She'll be long gone by now, no use trying until it's time to go, she's in her element right now." Andrew nodded, seeing what he meant.

They parted ways when the bell rang. Azalea went the 3rd form wing, and Andrew to the 4th. They met up at lunchtime, and talked more. Azalea told him how Mr. Hardwick thought that she was a musical prodigy and the story behind it, and Andrew told her that he was adopted and how his adoptive father had died in the army 3 years ago, which was the reason that they moved away from Kent. They walked home together at the end of the day, both lost in their own thoughts.

It had been her first good day in a long time, and she wished every day at school could be like that. She finally had a friend, and for a few weeks, every day _was_ perfect. But good things never lasted, ever. Not for her.

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**A/N: O****minous much? R&R please! ;D**


	2. Azalea's Secret

**Disclaimer: I'm not rich, not blonde, and I've never even been to Europe. Draw your own conclusion. I do happen to own Azalea, Andrew, and any other new characters you find.**

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Chapter 2: Azalea's Secret

It was Monday, And**re**w's new fa**v**or**i**t**e** day of the **w**eek. Once, it had been Friday, when he could have two whole days reprieve of the teasing and jeering of all the people at school. But now school was a time he could go and hang out with Azalea because she was never able to play outside during the weekends, a fact that he had never questioned.

Looking back, he could easily say that it had been the best three weeks of his life, and it had been. He finally had a friend; normally, the strange things that tended to happen around him immediately scared people off. Azalea didn't seem to mind, though. She said it was one of the reasons she didn't have any friends either.

His guita**r** playing was g**e**tting better and better, and he could now play along with Azalea on some songs. Azalea had been mo**v**ed up one form and **i**nto his class b**e**cause she was so far ahead of the others in her o**w**n form. Her aunt hadn't been pleased about it, for some reason, but he hadn't bothered to give it much thought. But he should have known good things like that could never last for long.

The day had begun no**r**mally **e**nough; they walked to school around six, and came back at their customary time of 3:45. Azalea said she'd meet him at the gap in the hedge around fi**v**e o'clock, when she'd be doing her chores. He'd gone to the hedge at f**i**v**e** and heard yelling. **W**hen he'd gone to investigate, he saw an overweight man that he guessed was Azalea's uncle kicking something on the ground. The sickening realization came seconds later. _It was Azalea._

He stumbled backward. Away from the hedge, away from the gut-wrenching sight before him, back into the safety of his room. It all suddenly made sense. The abrupt changes of subject whenever conversation strayed to the topic of home, the roundabout way in which she spoke of her relatives, the way she avoided her cousin like the plague, her reluctance to go home everyday, the worn condition of her clothes, the way she did all of her homework at school, the fact that she never wore anything but long sleeves… It was all because of _this_. He decided to talk to her about it tomorrow, and he promised himself that he'd do whatever he could to help.

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The next day Azalea was up at the usual time and they walked in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I am; why wouldn't I be?"Her voice had a deceptively puzzled tone now.

"We both know that isn't true, Azalea," He replied quietly.

Azalea froze, then her face paled when she realized what he meant. "You saw." It wasn't a question. He nodded, staring straight ahead, because he wasn't sure if his voice could even form the words properly.

"Can this wait until we're at school?" She asked, an odd tone coloring her voice. He nodded again. There was a heavy silence between them the rest of the way there.

When they finally reached the school, Azalea led Andrew to a neglected classroom and sat on one of the desks, causing dust to rise up in puffs, as though in protest.

"How much did you see?" She asked quietly, addressing her knees.

"Enough to scare the living daylights out of me and to know that something's up."

"Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. My parents died in a car crash when I was a year old, and I was sent to live with my mother's sister and her family. I was just left on their doorstep on November 1st of 1981, with a note that basically said, 'Your sister's dead, here's her kid.' They didn't want me; I'm not sure they even knew my name before then. My aunt and mother apparently had fallen out and never made up. At first it was outrage, and then it was just....hatred, I guess. It really isn't as bad as it looked; he was just really angry that I hadn't finished my chores. It's no big deal, really." She finished with a shrug. She was lying and they both knew it, but he wisely decided not to press the matter.

"Why didn't you ever tell anyone?" He asked instead.

"I t**r**i**e**d. Just once. When I was six, someone came to our school to talk about child abuse, and that you should tell if someone at home is hitting you. I told my teacher, she didn't belie**v**e me because she's one of my aunt's fr**ie**nds. Remember ho**w** I said that she doesn't exactly talk about me in a good light? Well, then I tried telling one of the nicer teachers, and she looked at me weird and walked off, so I didn't think she'd do anything. When I got back to the house, my aunt and uncle were furious. Said they got a call from the school, saying the teachers wanted a meeting concerning my 'homelife'. Unluckily for me, it was a few days before the summer holidays started so they could do anything they wanted since there wouldn't be teachers nosing around later on. I ended up locked in my room for nearly a whole month. I was paler than death after that. I was almost happy to get all of the out door chores they made me do; just to see the sun again was worth it."

Andrew stared at her. It was so....bad. She had so much to deal with, yet she didn't complain, nor was she suicidal. It was unfair really; she was such a good person, and no one deserved that, least of all her.

"What did they tell the teachers?"

"That I was an attention seeking brat, and to disregard anything I said as it was likely to be a lie." She replied bitterly, her expression suddenly hostile, and her hazel eyes seeming greener for a few fleeting moments.

"What about Mr. Hardwick, and the art teacher?"

"They might love my talent, but they still think I'm a head case." She said darkly. "And Andrew, will you promise me something?" He nodded. "Don't tell anyone, please, it would cause so much trouble." He grimaced but nodded woodenly in consent.

"Let's go to the library; I didn't get to finish my homework last night." Andrew suggested, changing the subject.

"Yeah, okay."

It was funny how much one little conversation could change. Things felt sort of awkward between them now; as though there was a wall separating them. There was, sort of, but he pushed this fact to the back of his mind. '_It isn't fair. It isn't __**right**__'_ he thought irately. He could say that even with what little she had said, and there was probably a lot more going on than she was willing to confess.

Azalea seemed to notice his inner conflict, and said, "You shouldn't feel bad about this or anything, it's just the way it is. Some people are lucky and some aren't and—."

"—the lucky ones don't understand how much they've got and some don't even deserve it." He cut her off.

"Look Azalea, the**re** has to be something I can do to help."

"You could in**vi**t**e** me over sometimes, I guess. It'd look suspicious if they al**w**ays said no."

"I'll do that." He promised fervently.

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**A/N: There you are, the second chapter! Chapter 3's in the works at this very moment. For those of you who are Twilight fans I have posted (or will be posting) a new fic soon, so that's something to look out for. Cheers! **


	3. A Birthday Mystery

**Disclaimer: I'm not rich, not blonde, and I've never even been to Europe Disclaimer: I'm not rich, not blonde, and I've never even been to Europe. Draw your own conclusion. I do happen to own Azalea, Andrew, and any other new characters you find.**

**A/N: Sorry this chappie's taken so long, but…okay, I don't have an excuse.**

**I'd also like to thank my wonderful reviewers, And those that added me to their story alerts and favorites lists. You all rock. Very much.**

**Song for the chapter: Wondering Where The Lions Are- Jimmy Buffet**

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Chapter 3: Birthday Mystery

_**Previously: **__"Look Zale, the__**re**__ has to be something I can do to help."_

"_You could in__**vi**__t__**e**__ me over sometimes, I guess. It'd look suspicious if they al__**w**__ays said no."_

"_I'll do that, and anything else I can." He promised fervently._

**About a year and change later (June 30, 1990)**

Azalea hea**r**d th**e** doorbell ring from her place at the kitchen sink. Her aunt went to answer it. A moment later she came into the kitchen. "That boy is here again," she hissed. "After you finish the dishes, go and put something clean on and lea**v**e. **I** want you back h**e**re before 8:30, you little freak, do you understand me?"

She quickly nodded and **w**ent to change. She ran out through the back door, and pulled something that was wrapped in old sheet out of the garden shed.

"What's that?" Andrew asked upon seeing her come out the back gate.

"You'll see." She replied cryptically. He looked confused, but wrote it off as a lost cause because he knew that Azalea wasn't going to say anything until she was ready.

When they got to Andrew's house, Ms. Dawson called to him from the kitchen. "And**re**w, dear, I'**v**e forgotten to buy **i**c**e** cream. Could you run do**w**n to the corner store and get some? The money is on the couch."

Andrew made an exasperated noise that only Azalea heard, called, "Yes, Mum," and left.

The house was dark when he returned ten minutes later.

"Hello?" He called cautiously, "Anyone here?"

All at once, the lights clicked on. "SURPRISE!" yelled a chorus of voices, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDREW!"

In front of him stood a small group of people, all wearing smiles and party hats. Andrew dropped the large carton of ice cream he had been holding. He'd never had a birthday party before. They had always celebrated it, of course, but he had never had an actual _party._ It wasn't for lack of trying, but no one ever seemed to want to come; prior to Little Whinging Primary everyone seemed to think he was just too _weird._ Now he was friends with most of his classmates despite he and Azalea being, as they put it, a bit dodgy.

It looked as though more than half of them were here now, some of them waving brightly colored noisemakers. And at the back of the group stood a woman with dark grey hair, her smile probably the largest of all.

"GRANDMUM!"

"Happy Birthday, Andrew." She said, hugging him.

"I thought you wouldn't be back from your trip to the States for another week!"

"I planned to come back early so I'd be home for your birthday; we decided to give you a surprise party this year. That nice little girl helped your mother and I set it all up. She even gave out invitations before school let out so all your classmates could come." She replied with a smile.

"Azalea, you did this?" He asked.

"Well, only little," she blushed. "Your mum and grandmum did most of—"

"Nonsense dear, this couldn't have been done without you. After all, you planned most of it on your own." The elderly woman interrupted. Azalea's face was now giving her vibrant hair a run for its money, a fact that was not lost on Andrew, and a smirk came unbidden onto his face. That is, until his mother broke in.

"Andrew, if you'll pick up that ice cream, we can have it with our cake out in the backyard." Mrs. Dawson said, unaware of the conversation that she was cutting short. This time Andrew flushed, and it was Azalea's turn to smirk.

"Forgetful today, huh?" She said with an evil looking grin as he picked up the ice cream.

"Shut up, Zale." He muttered, mortified.

Azalea backed down and they went out the back door and into the backyard were there was a large birthday cake with 11 lit candles on it. A girl named Lizzie piped up, "About time you got here, we thought we'd be eating solid wax!" Snickers followed that statement.

Andrew went to blow out the candles, but then his grandmother whispered into his ear. "Don't forget to make a wish."

For a moment, he pondered on what to wish for, but then his eyes slid unbidden to Azalea. She was sitting across from him, her eyes glowing a color closer to emerald green than hazel as they always did when she was either really happy, very upset, or, occasionally, excited. He knew what he wanted to wish for now.

_I wish that...that things would get better for Azalea._ Andrew took a deep breath and blew all the candles out. Everyone around the table cheered. "What did you wish for?" a boy named Brian asked curiously. "Shh, it's bad luck to tell!" A girl piped up.

"Go on Andy, cut the cake." His grandmother said, handing him a cake knife.

He cut the cake and put each piece on one of the small party plates that were in a stack next to the ice cream. Once everyone had eaten their fill of cake and ice cream, they moved into the living room so that Andrew could open his presents.

There were presents of all shapes and sizes heaped onto the coffee table, and it took nearly an hour for him to open them all. From his mother, he'd gotten a new full sized electric guitar (which wouldn't fit him for another 2 or 3 years, but he loved it anyway); his grandmother had gotten him a movie that was apparently very popular in the States_, 'The Wizard of Oz'. _From his classmates, he'd gotten all manner of things; action figures, board games, model cars, and someone even gave him a guide to building model airplanes form scratch. Eventually, only Azalea's present was left.

She hesitantly pulled the old sheet off of it and set it on the coffee table face up. Everyone leaned in to get a closer look at it. There was silence for a few seconds, and then whispers broke out among the guests. _"Did she do that herself?", "It's really good, looks just like him.", "How did she do _that_? Bet it's one of the reasons she got moved up." _Andrew just stared at it.

Azalea bit her lip, waiting for someone to say something, anything at all. Andrew beat them all. "Wow, Azalea, this is…_great._ Is this what you've working on since April?"

"Well…yeah." She said quietly.

"It looks just like you doesn't it!" His grandmum said excitedly.

"Yeah, it does." He replied.

"You could—_should_—be in an art school." She said.

"Well, I have gotten a few offers for when I get older, but I'd have to get a scholarship because my cousin is going to a boarding school called Smeltings and it costs a lot." Azalea said with a small smile. At that moment, Andrew knew exactly what Azalea was thinking. Many—if not most –independent schools in Britain were boarding schools, particularly the art schools. Just a few more years, and if she got a scholarship (and she definitely would with talent like that) she'd be practically free of the Dursleys until she was of age and could really get away. Maybe his wish would come true. _Maybe_… a voice in his head agreed.

For the next hour, they watched 'The Wizard Of Oz', which was quite good, and broke in a few of the board games Andrew had gotten. At 8 o'clock Azalea went back to the Dursleys claiming, "My aunt doesn't want me walking home alone too late." It didn't matter much though; the others' parents were just starting to come, so everyone was leaving anyway. Later, after everything was cleaned up, Andrew was sitting up in his room reading a book before he went to sleep when an old looking letter materialized on his lap. It was made out of some sort of heavy, yellowish paper. For a moment, he just stared at it in puzzlement and shock, and then opened it.

**TBC…**

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**A/N: Yes, I know I'm evil for the cliffie, but I will tell you that it isn't a Hogwarts letter :)**


	4. The Letter

**A/N: Yet again hello, lovely readers. Believe me, I love you to death for reading my stuff, but why is it exactly like pulling teeth trying to get a review? FYI, it's the summer holidays now (for them, not me!). Cheers!**

**Song for the chapter: Savin' Me- Nickelback**

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Chapter 4: The Letter

_**Previously: **__Later, after everything was cleaned up, Andrew was sitting up in his room reading one of his new books before he went to sleep when an old looking letter materialized on his lap. It was made out of some sort of heavy, yellowish paper. For a moment, he just stared at it in puzzlement and shock, and then opened it._

Now:

_July 1, 1979_

_My Dear Son, _

_I write this letter as I watch you sleep, for the first—and likely the last—time. Less than an hour ago, my wife—your mother—died. By the time you read this letter I will be long dead and forgotten. There is too much to tell and far too little time._

_I hope that you have been told that you were adopted as a week-old newborn. First, as I have little doubt that you were raised as a muggle, you are a wizard. Any strange things that happen around you at odd times are most likely accidental magic. Soon, if you have not already gotten it, you will receive a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is the magic school I myself went to when I turned eleven. The Black Family has been a prominent pureblood family in Wizarding society for centuries. You have an uncle named Sirius (though he may well have gotten himself killed by the time you have read this), three cousins named Andromeda Tonks (disowned while I was still at school), Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange (wouldn't advise having any contact with her though, she's a bit of a nutter)._

_As I write this letter, the Wizarding world is in the midst of a war against one of the most powerful Dark wizards in history, Voldemort. For a time I was one of his supporters, a Death Eater. Eventually I became disenchanted to Voldemort and his views, and I soon left his ranks. Wanted by both sides of the war, I am currently on the run. It is for this reason that I must leave you at the orphanage and pray that you remain safe. There is, though, one thing I must ask of you._

_Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the Light side, has worked against the Dark Lord for many years. Other than taking over the world, the Dark Lord's highest goal is to achieve immortality. He has taken steps to ensure that it is almost impossible for him to die. I have been working to find a way to reverse that process. All of my research can be found in my journal, which will be returned to the Black Family Library in 12 Grimmauld Place at the time of my death. My greatest regret is that your mother and I were unable to raise you as we would have in a happier world._

_Your Father,_

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

'_That was beyond bizarre'_ was Andrew's first thought upon finishing the letter. He had always known that he was adopted, of course, but not much more than that. Half it seemed to ridiculous to understand. With a glance at the new digital clock on his bedside table, he decided to talk to Azalea about it tomorrow and dropped off to sleep, the letter under his pillow.

The next day, Andrew went to the Dursley's and asked if Azalea could come over his house for a bit, but they said no. In fact, it was almost a week before he saw Azalea at all. When he finally did, the letter quickly became the last thing on his mind.

Azalea looked awful. It looked as though she was in pain with every single step she took, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept since the party.

"Zale, what happened?" He asked worriedly when they got to the park.

"Nothing, I'm fine." She lied.

"Don't lie, Azalea. I know you don't like to talk about it, but please don't lie." Andrew replied, a pained expression crossing his face. She sighed.

"Dudley accused me of breaking his computer. My uncle was angry." She said flatly.

"And now you can barely walk. Along with that you've got shadows under your eyes that make it look as though you haven't slept in a week." He snapped.

"I haven't." She mumbled, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the other kids playing. Andrew froze.

"You haven't- what?" His voice sounded thin to even his own ears.

"Andrew, drop it. It's nothing."

"No, I won't_ drop it. _You've got to tell someone, Zale. It's just going to get worse if you don't get out of there. And then, one day, _they're going to kill you._ You're my best friend. I can't lose you like that. It's like suicide." His gray eyes were slivers of icy determination.

"I can't. I tried before. They have too much influence, and technically, I don't even_ exist._ I haven't papers of any kind; no birth certificate, _nothing_. I don't have any idea how they got me in school. The fact is they could kill me, and almost no one would know because there just aren't any records of me ever being born. The chance that there are records of my parents is_ less_ than slim to none. There's nothing anyone can do. Besides, I'm not worth that. I'm not worth saving." Azalea said expressionlessly.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You are. You're worth it. I've never met anyone else _more_ worth saving." He retorted, his face twisted into a grimace. She nodded, but he could see that she was not convinced; it would take more than that, but he was prepared to do whatever he had to to make her see the truth. Then he saw the bandages wrapped around her arms, peeking out for under her long-sleeved shirt.

"Azalea what happened to your arms?"

"It's nothing." Azalea replied, looking away. Andrew was puzzled; the Dursleys never gave her bandages or medicine for anything. Unless… He felt the blood drain from his face. _No, that would never happen. Azalea's too strong, too proud. Stronger than most people will ever be. _A small mocking voice sounded in the back of his mind, '_**Well then, you shouldn't have any problem just asking her about it, should you?'**_

"Andrew, are you okay?" She asked, sounding worried.

"Er, yeah it's just… your arms, it looks as though you tried to…" His voice faltered, unable to find the words.

"Tried to what?" Azalea asked.

"_Off_ yourself." He said with a deep breath, praying it wasn't true.

---

_He knows. _She bit her lip, keeping her eyes carefully trained on the ground, and schooling her face into a carefully apathetic expression. Andrew paled even more.

"Azalea, how could you _do _that? You've got your whole life ahead of you. Like you said, once you're out of primary, you got dozens of full scholarships at boarding schools to choose from. You'd be away from all this forever, set for life. Why?"

"It's just…hard sometimes, okay?" She replied, plopping down on a swing. "So what is it that you wanted to tell me so badly?" She asked.

"What? And don't change the subject!"

"C'mon Andrew, you've been over the Dursleys every day this week, asking if I was allowed outside. You never ask that often. What's up?"

"Well, the night after the party, there was this letter. Here it is." He pulled the letter out of his pocket for her to read. She quickly examined the letter.

"Wow. That's…odd. This Regulus guy claims he's your dad? Huh." Azalea felt jealousy welling up inside her. How many times had she wished for some assurance that, once upon a time, she had been wanted somewhere; proof that her parents hadn't just left her there on the Dursley's doorstep because they simply didn't want her. But Andrew was the one who got it. _'No, you should be happy for him. He is your best friend, after all.'_ Azalea let out a deep breath. Andrew apparently did not notice her inner struggle.

"What should we do? I mean it isn't as though we can tell anyone and expect them to believe us." Andrew asked. Azalea shrugged.

"Wait and see if that other letter he talked about comes. If it doesn't we'll know it's a fraud. Listen, I've got to go. Aunt Petunia said I only have a few minutes. I'll see you later." She stood and they walked back to Privet Drive in silence.

Azalea was distracted when she came into the Dursleys' house. Which meant that she forgot that she wasn't allowed to have her 'little freaky shoes' inside the house.

"How dare you come in here with those dirty things on your feet! Little freaks like you are lucky to have anything at all! Your Uncle will hear about this!" Aunt Petunia punctuated her furious tirade with a slap that left an angry red handprint that showed with startling clarity on Azalea's pale skin.

"Get outside and start your afternoon chores. You had better finish them, or **else**." Else again. She thought _else_ happened quite a lot, regardless of whether or not she finished her chores.

Later, when the Dursleys where all sitting down the dinner that she had cooked, but was, of course, not to receive any of, Azalea sat alone in the dark and thought over her life up until now. Looking back, she realized just how _different_ she was. Even if she had come from a normal family with two normal parents and perhaps a dog, the strange things that happened around her wouldn't go away, nor would her abnormal musical talent simply disappear. Less motivated perhaps, but still very much there.

"Girl, come upstairs to serve the dessert and start washing the dishes!"

Azalea went upstairs. Dudley sneered at her as she picked the plates up and scraped the leftovers into the trashcan before setting them in the sink. After a pointed look from her aunt, she sprayed window cleaner onto the leftovers in the trash. This ritual had gone on ever since she was 6 years old. Azalea had gotten desperate enough to try to pick leftovers from the trash, and after her uncle caught her, she didn't leave the house for almost a whole month (they told the school that she was 'very ill').

Hours later, before she fell asleep, Azalea wondered idly if the second letter would even come. It seemed so unreal, more like a prank than anything…

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**A/N: My muse made me do something stupid and I made her finish the chapter for me in return. Be happy. R&R!**


	5. Another One

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaack! And guess what! I'm not dead!!!!!!! XD This chapter is short since it's mainly filler (I know I suck). Thanks to all the awesome people who alerted/favorited me, and to all the even awesomer people who reviewed! You all get big virtual hugs and star-shaped cyber cookies with yellow icing (nods)!!!!  
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Chapter 5: Another Letter

_**Previously: **__Hours later, before she fell asleep, Azalea wondered idly if the second letter would even come. It seemed so unreal, more like a prank than anything…_

Azalea winced as she gingerly shifted the large hedge clippers in her burned fingers. Uncle Vernon had been furious when she'd burned the bacon that morning. It had been years since she'd had her hand put to the burner, but her uncle had not hesitated to bring back the old punishment for burning food.

There was a rustle in the bushes next to her.

"Andrew?" She called quietly.

"Yeah. It came." There was an odd look in his eyes, a hyper-excited, dazzled sort of look. Azalea thought it looked odd on Andrew's normally calm features.

"Wha—you're kidding."

"Nope. An owl swooped in dropped it on the desk, and left."

"An _owl_?" Azalea asked, a skeptical look crossing her almost elfin features.

"That's exactly what I was thinking!"

"Tell your mother next time I come over."

"Why do you have to be there?" He asked, puzzled.

"I just want to see her face when you tell her." Andrew shook his head.

"You know, most people wouldn't believe there's a sense of humor somewhere in there."

"Well, most people aren't my best friend." She retorted, half smirking.

"Touché." Andrew said, rolling his eyes.

"I'll see you later." She said abruptly. Grimacing, he nodded, both of them knowing Azalea's words to mean that her uncle was coming. Both moved away from the small gap in the hedge as Vernon Dursley's heavy footfalls announced his arrival in the backyard. Walking away from the hedge, Andrew felt the cold sensation that he felt every time their conversations ended that way. He quickened his pace when he heard the bulky man's voice yell and knew that there was nothing he could do.

Azalea was surprised. Not only had the first letter _not _been a prank, the second had come so soon. It had barely been two days since they'd talked in the park, after all.

Uncle Vernon's face was already purple as he walked toward her, belt in hand, and she almost wished that they had sent her to an orphanage, as they so often threatened to, because nothing could be worse than this.

--

Aunt Petunia was obviously in a charitable mood the next day, because she was allowed to go to Andrew's after lunch, for which she got 2 slices of bread and a glass of water.

Andrew met her at the corner, having been on his way to ask if she could come over.

"Guess you're telling her today, huh?" Azalea smirked.

"Right." Andrew muttered. She cocked her head to one side.

"Nervous?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if this all isn't just a trick, what will I do? The letter says it's a boarding school and those are always pretty expensive, so how would we pay for it? And—" Azalea cut him off.

"Andrew calm down. This is why we're telling your mother. She'll probably know what to do." She said carefully.

"Er, yeah, right." He replied as they walked into the kitchen, where Mrs. Dawson had just finished making sandwiches for lunch.

"Oh hello, Azalea dear. I just finished you two's lunches." She said, turning around with a smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Dawson!" Azalea replied cheerily, with a pointed look at Andrew. His mouth twisted into a grimace as he took both letters from his pocket and handed them to his mother, saying, "Er, the first one came after the party, and the second one came last night," his tone laced with nervous anticipation.

Ms. Dawson was silent as she read the two letters. Upon finishing, she sat down slowly at the table. Her face was something between shocked and brain dead. Azalea beat back a giggle, but was unable to hide the smirk that crept across her face.

"Well, I got a letter from your biological father as well. He left it at the orphanage with you Andy. I honestly wasn't sure whether or not to believe it. Goodness, this is all so much to take in." She said with a sigh.

"I suppose that the only question now is whether you want to go or not." Mrs. Dawson was staring intently at Andrew.

"I don't know. I mean, it'd be great to learn magic and all but I'd probably be homesick; I don't know if I want to go if I'm by myself."

"Well, that's alright. Why don't we just check it out? There were directions how to get there on the letter I got. If you decide that you want to go to Hogwarts, then we'll send the reply from the post office that ought to be there." Mrs. Dawson looked slightly relieved that Andrew had said that he wasn't sure. Azalea felt much the same. It wasn't that she wasn't happy for Andrew, but she didn't look forward to being by herself again and such a situation would give the Dursleys means to hurt her without anyone poking around.

Mrs. Dawson gave them their sandwiches and went upstairs, saying that she was going to have a lie down. Andrew grabbed an American board game his grandmother had gotten him from his room. As they set up the game, Andrew noticed an odd look on Azalea's face.

"Are you okay, Zale?"

"Yeah, just…I'm fine." She replied, looking away. Andrew frowned.

"What is it?" He asked. Azalea grimaced.

"I don't want you to be so far away, alright?" She said flatly.

"Then I won't go." He told her quickly.

"No, no, you should go; it'd be great if you learned magic. I just meant that—well it's not exactly like I have many friends other than you. Let's just play the game." She added hastily, a clear end to the subject. _Yet again Azalea's skills of changing the subject come into play._ _I really need a backup for these situations._

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**A/N: Yay! New chapter! Wahoo! Yeah, 6&7 are being wrapped up so they'll be along soon. Review please!!!  
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**Director: _And CUT! That's a wrap people, go home. Well, since we all live here, go to your respective mind corners. This place has plenty of them. If you're new, see Boss when she goes to sleep! It oughta be soon anyways._**

**Sarcastic:_ Shut the hell up, Director. Some of us still have work left to do, so fuck off and go home!!!_**

**Workaholic: _Oi! You two! Quit arguing so Sarcastic can get back to work! Her and Muse are writing all the stories these days. Go bother Happy if you're bored; she hasn't got any work to do._**


	6. Cope

**A/N: Um yea…RL happened.**

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**Chapter 6: Diagon Alley**

It seemed like a long time before she saw Andrew again. Dudley had decided that his new computer game wasn't good enough and had seen fit to break it. It went without saying that it had been blamed on her.

Aunt Petunia had slapped her and screamed that she was an ungrateful freak before locking her in the basement with the promise of much worse from her uncle when he got home from work.

Her uncle had beaten her with the buckle end of his belt and dislocated her shoulder. She didn't know how long she was locked in there after that but she guessed 7 or 8 days, because when they'd let her back out, the light burned and her legs felt like jelly. They let her eat a piece of stale bread and some half moulded cheese then set her to cleaning the entire house, including both of Dudley's bedrooms. It was all she could do not to sick up before collapsing on unsteady legs.

It had taken her the whole day to clean the house; it was even slower going than usual because she was so tired and the hunger pangs were making every move painful. When she got to the bathroom she checked herself in the mirror. A thin, short girl stared back at her. There were dark spots under her dull hazel-green eyes and her red hair was tangled and dirty. The bones in her face stuck out from behind pale, ashen skin that was yellow in the places where bruises were healing. Aunt Petunia yelled at her to quit dawdling around like a lazy bum, and the girl in the mirror jumped and hurried back to work at the same time that Azalea did.

She'd purposely left cleaning Dudley's rooms for last, hoping in vain that he'd be somewhere else while she cleaned. Dudley threw things at her, taunting her, pulled things that she'd just put away out again, and prolonged what was already a time-consuming job. She only finished when Dudley got bored and left to watch the telly.

Her aunt called her to cook dinner, and then locked her back into the basement after she'd finished. The pains in Azalea's stomach kept her awake and she couldn't get comfortable. So she just sat in the dark, listening to the house grow quieter by the hour. She wished that she had a light to read by, but the light switch for the basement was upstairs. Precious electricity wasn't to be wasted on her.

Azalea had never been afraid of the dark, but now it seemed to press in on her. Maybe it was from hunger, maybe it was lack of sleep, but she had an unexpected need for light. It was too quiet and too dark and it suddenly scared her. There could be anything waiting there in the dark, and she wouldn't see it at all. One minute she could be alive and then...nothing. Anything could happen. _Get a grip_, she told herself crossly, _there's nothing there._ But still the thought returned to her mind again and again. The abrupt fear became so overwhelming and it seemed as if she would drown in it, then…light flooded the room.

It was so bright; the light seemed to seep into the corners of the room, chasing every shadow in the basement away. She'd shut her eyes a split second after the light had appeared. Going from absolute dark to bright, blinding light had burned her eyes. She idly wished it was a little dimmer, and amazingly enough it dimmed. She opened her eyes. Light still pervaded the room, but it was no longer so overpoweringly bright. She glanced around for the source of it. There wasn't any. The single bare bulb that hung in the center of the room was unlit.

The light was just there. There was no source, no explanation at all; it was like magic. Magic…Her mind moved so quickly that she almost didn't see the answer to all of it. If Andrew was magic, it meant that, contrary to what her relatives had always told her, magic was real.

It existed.

Did this mean that she had magic too? It would certainly explain a lot. The light with no source, the strange things that had always happened around her, and, of course, why it was always blamed on her. But it also meant they knew something.

Her anger towards the Dursleys spiked, but she beat it back. There was nothing she could do about it now, or ever for all she knew. But now that the apparent deception had been noticed, it kept nagging her. She turned her attention to the light.

_If I _am_ doing this; shouldn't I be able to control it? _She focused on making a ball of light. Nothing happened. _Concentrate! _She shut her eyes and imagined the light floating in front of her. She opened her eyes and it was there. She paused in amazement and the ball of light started to dim. She concentrated again and it brightened.

She watched it thoughtfully for a moment. Then she concentrated again. There was a small popping noise and the blue was a pale shade of sky blue. It wasn't the deep royal blue that she imagined but the tiny change in itself gave her hope. She tried again, getting a shade that was a little darker than the first. A vague snatch of a memory floated across her mind.

There were little multi-coloured lights floating languidly in a circle above her. A stuffed yellow elephant spun around in the center of it. The snatch faded as quickly as it had come.

She suddenly felt completely drained and somehow even more exhausted than she already had been. She fell asleep almost instantly.

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"I've decided to go." Andrew told her while they sat on the swings. She nodded thoughtfully, considering.

"That's good." She said finally.

"Mum took me to the place that my father mentioned in his letter. The Leaky Cauldron?" He explained excitedly.

"Yes. I remember." She answered.

"Well the bartender explained a few things and then he got someone called Mr. Doge to help us shop and stuff. He had this ridiculous looking purple hat." Azalea snickered at this.

"And the back lot where they keep the trash cans leads to this place called Diagon Alley, and there are so many cool shops there, but they don't use regular money. They've got these things called galleons. They were like those ancient gold coins we saw at a museum once, remember?"

Azalea just murmured in reply.

"You alright?"

"Course I am, keep going." She replied quickly.

"So Mr. Doge took us to the bank and showed us how things work and all, but you won't believe who runs the wizard banks!"

"Who?" Azalea asked, puzzled.

"_Goblins_. They're pretty scary-looking if you ask me, but they showed us the vault and stuff. Then we went to look around the Alley. There's a wand shop, and an apothecary. Wizard wear robes; instead of normal clothes, I mean. There's this ice cream shop; it's got every flavor of _everything. _It's all so amazing! Maybe you could come with us, the next time we go." Andrew offered, a abruptly and little uncertainly, as if he'd just realized that it might be a place where she couldn't follow.

"I'd like to go." Azalea said quietly.

"Well you can. If your aunt and uncle let you." He replied awkwardly and she nodded again and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I should get back." She said resignedly; hopping off the swing, and deciding, for the moment, not to tell Andrew about the light she _thought_ she'd made. _I might have dreamed it all up, _she rationalized, even as she admitted to herself that the thought wasn't all that convincing.

"I'll walk you."

They didn't talk about Hogwarts or Diagon Alley anymore. They talked about the weather, a field trip they'd been on at school; everything except that Andrew was leaving. It hung over them just the same. She hesitated before going through the back gate, considering telling him about the light. She resolved not to. _Andrew wouldn't want to know anyway, _she told herself harshly, shoving the gate open.

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September 1st blew in on gusty winds with rain by the bucketful. Azalea thought it fitting. There had never been a more depressing day. Everything seemed to go wrong from the beginning. She woke up late and she spilled coffee down Uncle Vernon's front at breakfast, earning herself a slap and no meals for two days.

She did her best to finish the rest of her chores that morning, but she was so distracted that everything seemed to go wrong no matter how much she tried. At ten to ten, she'd only just finished the kitchen and was cleaning the hallway. The doorbell rang and she jumped as her aunt went to answer it.

She heard Mrs. Dawson's voice at the door, asking if Azalea could go to see Andrew off to school from Kings Cross. Her aunt replied that no, she couldn't because she seemed to be getting ill and, loving aunt that she was, Aunt Petunia didn't want her out in this weather. Wasn't it dreadful? So sorry. And no, Andrew oughtn't come up to say goodbye; he might catch whatever Azalea's got. Wouldn't want him ill on his way to school, would we?

Her aunt shut the door turning to survey Azalea. She froze nearly dropping the mop. Her relatives hadn't known that Andrew was leaving. Now they did, and her only safety net was gone. If Andrew wasn't around to notice anything, no one else would either. School wouldn't start for another to weeks and a new one at that. There was no way she'd know anyone there, and certainly not anyone who'd take any interest. It spelled disaster for her. In capitals.

"Haven't got that nasty little friend of yours poking around anymore, have you?" her aunt sneered down at her from the stairs, but for some reason seemed a little startled. _ She must think it odd to start term on a Tuesday, I suppose._ Azalea thought without much conviction. She didn't care either way.

Two weeks later Azalea sat alone at the top of the basement stairs, listening to the sounds of laughter with the smell of dinner drifting under the door. True to her theory the Dursleys had taken any and all advantages of the fact that no one would notice the things they did to her.

The effect had been immediate. More slapping, more bruising, more starving, more everything and Azalea was beginning to realize how much they'd let up since her friendship with Andrew; fearing that he or his mother would notice, she try as she might, she could make the mysterious, impossible light again. It must have been a dream after all, so impossible it had to be and impossible it would stay.

_It doesn't matter, _she told herself. _You coped before and you can cope now; it's no different. _But it was different. She'd become used to eating more at Andrew's (used to everything at Andrew's) and now she was paying for it. She'd eaten only once since in the two weeks since Andrew had left and her stomach was in absolute agony.

And then, a traitorous thought in her head. _ You must really be as horrible as they say then, mustn't you? Why else would they treat you like this? You intruded on their normal lives, messing everything up. Why shouldn't they treat you this way? You deserve it._

And as much as she didn't want to believe it, she did. It was perfectly logical, wasn't it? Another part of her screamed that no, she didn't deserve this; she was better than that. It sounded oddly like Andrew and she pushed it away. No more distractions. There was no time to ponder on it; she needed only survive it. _Pull yourself together. You'll need it._


	7. Time

**Chapter 7: Time**

The next week Azalea started term at Stonewall High. It was big and crowded and grey. Everything was grey. The uniforms, the lockers, the floors, the classrooms, and even some of the teachers were grey.

After a few days, Azalea found that there was almost no difference between Little Whinging Primary without Andrew and Stonewall High, also without Andrew. Maybe the only difference was Dudley's absence, but it was no issue. She still had no friends. She was smaller and skinnier than everyone else and had those 'freaky-odd' eyes.

She quit talking, going about her work with every effort not to be noticed. She kept her head down in school, hunching over in the back of classrooms and sitting alone in the cafeteria at lunch, never eating. _I must look a fright,_ she thought idly one day. _Scuffed old shoes that water seeps into when it rains, old hodge-podge uniform that's obviously dyed, all covering up a sack of skin and bones with a loud red mess on top._

It bothered her, of course. Being alone. But somehow it didn't bother her so badly. She knew this. She was used to it. Small mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

Andrew's first letter came only a week after she started school. She'd been outside when the owl dropped down beside her, the snowy regally holding out a leg for her to untie it. She stuffed it away as soon as the owl had taken off, knowing that her aunt was watching her from the dining room window.

She opened the letter later, after all her chores were finished and the house was dark and quiet.

_Dear Zale,_

_Hogwarts is amazing! I wish you could see it! There are four houses; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They're named after the four founders. There's an enchanted hat that sorts you into one of them based on your personality. Ravenclaw, that's the one I'm in, is for the clever and knowledge hungry aka 'the bookworm house'. No surprises there. Gryffindor is the brave, bold and noble house. Honorable and brave and all that. They're alright, but some of them seem a bit daft if you ask me. Slytherin is known for cunning and ambition. They've got a bit of a feud going with the Gryffindors, but they're not all that friendly with other houses either. Everyone swears that their head of house plays favorites, but I haven't had his class yet, so I wouldn't know. The last one, Hufflepuff, is known for loyalty and patience, and they're a right cheerful lot if you ask me, even though they get a bad rap for being the 'throwback' house._

_The older students are pretty helpful for the most part, except for the Weasley twins. They're in Gryffindor but they could give the Slytherins a run for their money as far as cunning goes. They turned everything neon at breakfast the other morning. The eggs were hot pink with electric blue bacon. No one knows how they did it, and they couldn't get the food the right color again until dinner._

Andrew rambled on some more about the castle, which was enormous and nearly impossible to navigate, moving staircases, and the classes and their respective teachers. They were such odd classes as well; Transfiguration with an intimidating woman who could transform into a cat at will; Charms with a tiny goblin-like man who was too short to see over his desk; flying lessons with a woman who looked like a hawk. It all sounded so incredible. A glimmer of hope arose in her when the thought that she might go to Hogwarts crossed her mind. She squashed it ruthlessly. No reason to get her hopes up only to be dashed. Even if she did by some quirk of fate have magic, the Dursleys would never pay.

She read over the letter twice, folded it up and stowed it behind a loose brick in the wall. She'd write a reply tomorrow.

The next morning Aunt Petunia woke her up as usual. She went upstairs to cook breakfast. There was a timer sitting on the counter and her aunt had an unpleasant sneer on her face. Azalea's blood ran cold_. _Her aunt looked at her with a frosty expression.

"Well, you know what you're doing, get started." She snapped.

She was immediately a flurry of motion, rushing to beat the timer. She had fifteen minutes, not a second more. She could only pray that her aunt hadn't changed the rules. The old ones alone had been bad enough. Finish breakfast late, no food. Finish the dishes late, no school. No school meant an impossible list of chores that she'd never finish in time for dinner, which again meant no food. After dinner she was fair game for anything else Aunt Petunia could dream up.

She couldn't remember when her aunt's games had first started, but she could remember when and how they had ended.

_She was seven years old. The Dursleys had planned a weekend holiday to the seaside. Azalea had never wanted anything more than she'd wanted to go. She'd begged and pleaded to be allowed to go along. They agreed on the condition that she do all of her chores right for an entire month. She worked like she never had before, catering to their every whim without so much as a sigh. And even then she wasn't quite sure that they'd keep to their word. She'd been delighted when they wordlessly directed her into the car the day of their departure. She sat quietly the entire ride, even though she could barely contain her excitement. They went directly to the beach. The parking lot was at the top of a steep hill with stairs that led down to the beach. Her uncle ordered her to get the picnic basket and beach things out of the boot. She didn't notice that she was the only one to get out of the car or that it was still running as she circled to the rear of it. _

_The car lurched backward, knocking her down the steep hill that led down to the beach. She scrabbled frantically, grabbing at the thorns that grew on the side of the hill. Pain laced her legs as she tumbled, thorns and sharp rocks embedding themselves in her skin. It was all she could do to shield her head with her arms and pray not to get hit._

_When she finally skidded to a stop, cut, bruised and grimy at the foot of the hill, she could see Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley sneering down at her laughing. She tried to stand and fell as pain shot through her ankle and leg. The sound of the Dursleys' cruel laughter carried down to her as she dragged herself away from the hill in humiliation._

_They went on with their vacation, and she spent the better part of the day trying to pick the thorns from under her skin. She finally gave up trying and settled for dragging herself to the waterline and letting the stinging saltwater waves slide over her. They were so cool and so clean. She was suddenly exhausted; surely she could rest her eyes just for a moment…._

That had been the first and only time she'd ever been inside a hospital. Her leg and ribs had been badly broken and she was on crutches for weeks after. It had been the most peaceful time she'd ever had in her aunt and uncle's house. She still had chores, of course, but they'd left her alone for weeks after, seeming almost frightened, for some reason. But the peaceful time passed and life at the Dursley's degenerated into exactly what it had been, with only the notable absence of the timer.

It would be fine. She could do it; she was older and smarter than she had been then. She'd have to find a way. What else could she do?

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**Feedback anyone? **


	8. Rain

**Chapter 8: Rain**

It rained a lot that fall. Leaves wilted from the trees to morph into soggy clumps on the sidewalk. The world seemed washed out. Occasionally there would be a few days' feeble sunshine, before gray clouds took over the sky again. Azalea didn't mind as much as everyone else seemed to. The rain seemed a comforting friend; one whose touch was gentle and never bruising or unkind, a far cry from what she was used to.

Of course, it had made her hair frizz and tangle so badly that her aunt had hauled off and hacked it all off with the kitchen scissors one morning. Azalea very nearly cried as locks of her once waist-length red hair fell sadly to the pristine kitchen floor. What was left was an uneven cut that barely reached the back of her neck. Only her bangs remained untouched, 'to hide that awful scar.'

Azalea dreaded getting to school that day. As if the other students needed another reason to ridicule her; they had ample cause already, what with her waiflike appearance. But she was amazed to find that when she walked into the restroom upon arriving at school, her hair was as long as it had been before her aunt had cut it.

It made her day decidedly more cheerful, and, though Azalea flatly refused to let herself believe it, it seemed like the accidental magic Andrew had talked about in his letters. Her aunt was furious when she got back to the house. She slapped Azalea when she saw that it looked just as it had before, knocking her to the floor and berating her for being a worthless, unnatural freak. Her aunt dragged her up by her newly rematerialized hair and shoved her into the kitchen to start the day's chores, promising with a snarl that her uncle would deal with her later.

And deal with her he did. She was sure Uncle Vernon would pull half her hair right back out. It certainly felt as if he had, but when she checked for blood later, she found that her scalp was mercifully undamaged, though she couldn't say the same for her legs and back, which stung with the welts from her uncle's belt. They locked her outside for the night so she huddled as close to the back wall of the shed as she could, trying in vain to keep dry. It wouldn't do for her to get sick.

Just before dark, Andrew's large snowy owl swopped over and landed regally beside her, holding out a leg with a low hoot. She untied the letter, not that there was any way she'd be able to read it; dark had fallen over an hour ago. The owl took off again on silent wings, presumably to deliver a letter to Mrs. Dawson, and she started to tuck the heavy parchment into a pocket—Andrew had written a long one this time—and realized that there might be a way she could read it.

She'd almost completely forgotten the ball of light that she seemed to have created that day in the basement; she'd willed herself to. But perhaps she could make it again now.

She tried. Really she did. But somehow the light wouldn't come. She got more and more frustrated at trying and failing to produce the ball of light that had been so surreal. Like a dream. And she thought perhaps it might have been. She'd been hungry and exhausted and likely dehydrated as well. It would have been easy to hallucinate, given her sudden and wholly uncalled for panic attack.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. There really wasn't any use for her to be upset about it. She looked in dismay at the letter in her hands. The rain started to come down harder and she wondered whether her had locked the shed at some point since she'd lasted been weeding. She decided to check; there was no reason for her to get soaked if it was.

She got up and tucked Andrew's letter into the deep pocket of her too-big jeans. She went around to look at the doors and noted with dismay that the padlock was on the doors. She gave it an experimental tug and to her surprise, it came free; Uncle Vernon must not have locked it properly.

She slipped into the dark shed. It smelled of grass and fertilizer, but it was at least dry, albeit chilly. She carefully stepped around the mower and other yard tools to the back corner of the shed, where there were a few bags of topsoil and a large tarpaulin. It had been ages since she'd slept here. Chilly though it was, it was a sight more comfortable than the hard basement floor.

She tripped over something heavy and bent to pick it up. It was a cheap plastic torch Uncle Vernon must have gotten from work. She fumbled for the switch. Nothing happened.

She shook it, hearing the batteries rattle slightly inside. She smacked it against her hand a few times. The torch lit, throwing the shed into brightness. She set it beside her and reached into her pocket for Andrew's letter.

_Zale,_

_You'll never believe what I've just found out. I mentioned you in passing to a couple of friends at school…_

And so it was that on a drippy evening in the garden shed at Number 4 Privet Drive, Azalea Potter learned she was a witch.

* * *

**Finally what we've all been waiting for!**


End file.
